


The Morning After

by thepeskyunicorn



Series: THB fanwork week [2]
Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: Domestic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posner did not wake up the morning after so much as let the lazy roils of dreams drag him to consciousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> THB fanwork week - Day 2

Posner did not wake up the morning after so much as let the lazy roils of dreams drag him to consciousness.

He blinks sleepily, relishing the ache in his muscles from last night's activities and surveys his surroundings. Alone again, then, in the wide expanse of a rapidly cooling bed. He untangles his legs from the comforter, soft and blue and familiar, hand reaching to grasp for an absent figure long gone, leaving the other side cold and unwelcoming. 

If not for the known fact that the bedroom he's currently in belongs to the other man, Posner would have thought that this is to be another one night stand. The knowledge makes him feel a little less abandoned. He hates one night stands.

It is not enough, however, to stop the rising tide of anxiousness in his chest. What if the other man had left for breakfast, leaving a note for Posner telling him to get lost before he comes back? Or he could have moved out of the house while he was asleep, carrying all his belongings with him to Madeira, where another lover, one that is much more handsome and less of a wreck than Posner, is waiting for him?

The ridiculousness of the last thought made Posner shake his head to clear the last remnants of sleep and fear in his mind. In all likelihood, his absent bed mate would probably be cooking breakfast right now.

Right on cue, the sound of bacon hitting the pan sizzling and the smell of cooked food wafts into the bedroom, the unexpected homeliness of the situation making Posner glance down and smile involuntarily at the blue comforter, absentmindedly picking at a stray thread. He heaved a sigh and rolled off the bed reluctantly. Time to find his clothes and look the situation in the eye.

After putting on a shirt and a pair of boxers (which were hanging from the top of the door frame - how the hell did it get there?), he shuffles out of the bedroom, shyly peering into the living room, noting the lived-in coziness of the house and the slight hint of disarray in the mismatched furniture and piles of books strewn across the tables. It is not an unfamiliar sight- he has been here many times before- and looking at the tiny bachelor pad helps ease his worries a little. 

As Posner rounds the corner into the tiny kitchen, he is greeted by the sight of a half-naked Scripps, crooning softly to himself and flipping bacon and eggs, occasionally looking down to murmur softly to the fat grey cat that winds herself around his legs and meows for her breakfast. A pot of tea steams quietly in the middle of the dining table, creating, in that fraction if a moment, an image of domestic bliss

He stood at the doorway, unable to move, unwilling to intrude on the scene, suddenly feeling more afraid than he has in years. There’s the burn of bile rising and throat choked, half pronounced yearnings clamoring to be made known. This is not the first time, it will not be the last and would it be selfish of him to want this forever and ever and ever?

But he is too broken to fix, too fragile to hold, too lowly to match Scripps's brilliance. It hurts, knowing that he will never be enough for the one person he's come to love. He chews his lips nervously, worrying and watching the muscles in Scripps’s back move.

Oh Pos, he recalls bitterly, with your spaniel heart. 

He made a move to turn, already planning his escape route. Maybe if he’s quiet enough, he could squeeze through the window before Scripps notices.

Except that Scripps, damn him, turns around with the pan in his hand and a smile on his face like he genuinely believes Posner hung the moon.

“Breakfast’s ready.”

And Posner allows himself to be dragged into a chair and fed with a smile, because he might not ever be fine and there will always be the doubt in his heart. But - 

“Doubt truth to be a liar,” he recited under his breath, “But never doubt I love you.”

The words, tattooed in his mind, whispered in the gleaming dark the night before by the man across the table, will always be enough for him.


End file.
